Spiders came. With them, dawnlight.
Brown, gray, black, spirals...dragging
Their colors weary...no webs.
'Give us homes, sanctuary.
Our kind knows nothing of
Heaven,
Ties that bind.
We do not pray...tomorrow
May teach.'
Villagers came. With them, twilight.
Old, grizzled, craggy, gnarled...dragging
Their dreams weary...no smiles.
'No homes here, sanctuary for your kind.
Our ties bind to the earth.
We pray, pray...
Tomorrow is the same to us...
We do not teach.'
Night came. With it, silence.
No horse, chicken, dog, bird sounds...
Dragging soundlessness, still air weary...
No Light.
Toward dawning pastels, one door closing,
Shattered Dark's spells.
Villagers filed to pews, cross-sword shadows
On rooftops.
As their eyes turned Heavenward to ceilings,
Webs of crystalline fragility
Starred Light upon them.
'Our sermon today, my brethren, will
Be spoken about the smallest becoming
The highest,
In our God's
Kingdom...
On Earth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Arachnophobe that I am, I found this ruly engaging and thought-provoking. t x